


Hulk Gets a Haircut!

by s_alt, valdemort



Series: Avengers Mansion Challenges [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Challenges, Crazy impromptu shit our brains came up with, Fluff, Gen, Silly Writing Game, What were we thinking, move along, no seriously just fluff here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_alt/pseuds/s_alt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valdemort/pseuds/valdemort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Bruce grumpily blinks Steve’s direction, trying to focus on him from under that unruly bed-head mop of shaggy curls. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You really need a haircut, Bruce,” Tony remarks, and Natasha nods solemn agreement.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even Thor looks over and manages, between mouthfuls, to remark upon the general state of the brilliant doctor:  “This unkempt look does not suit you, Banner.”  </em>
</p><p>Even something as simple as a haircut is never truly simple when the Hulk is involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hulk Gets a Haircut!

**Author's Note:**

> The bones of this sprang from a game I made up on the fly one night on chat. I call it: **Avengers Mansion Challenge!**
> 
> The rules are as follows:
> 
>   1. One player names a start game event, like _Someone left a Hulk plushie on Bruce's bed._
>   2. The other player names an end game event, like _Natasha kills a guy with epic thighs of DOOM._
> 

> 
> The players then take turns writing a line until they get from start to finish.
> 
> We played, laughed, then spent time editing the piece because we thought it’d be a fun fluff story. And the essence of play is still there - good for S_alt, who writes way too much angst.
> 
> You can see our start and end game events in the end notes.

Clint whistles happily as he pours waffles into the waffle maker, stirs his scrambled eggs, and turns the bacon that hisses and pops next to him. Some mornings were worth waking up -- especially those mornings following a particularly grueling, and exceptionally successful, mission. _The team deserves a treat,_ he’d thought when he woke up, and so here he was, making them all breakfast. He hopes it’s enough food; they all worked up an appetite last night.

The smells wafting down the halls - coffee, sweetened bread, bacon - slowly find their way into the suites of the other Avengers, let’s face it: fresh-cooked bacon and homemade waffles are irresistible to even the most stubborn of over-sleepers.

Steve, ever-hungry, wanders in first, smiling broadly when he sees the piles of food, places set for all of them and then some. “Good man, Clint,” he says, smiling broadly. “Can I help?”

Clint points to the now-full coffee pot. “Pour. I need to brew. Bruce’ll want more.” 

Steve gives Clint’s shoulder a pat - gently - and scoops up several coffee cups in one hand, the pot in the other. He pours a cup for every one of them; to a person, this team _loves_ coffee, needs it.

As if on cue, Bruce wanders in next, still not quite awake, rubbing his eyes with one balled hand while half-blindly groping with the other for caffeine to chase away the fog. Cup located, he goes for the pot, confused when his hand closes on empty air. Steve, smirking, carefully removes the empty mug, eliciting a disapproving grunt, then replaces it with one that is hot and full. He’s seen this same scene replayed by Bruce many times before.

Bruce takes it with a contented sigh, sinking into the closest seat, sipping gratefully, as non-verbal as ever in the mornings. He ignores the hellos from Tony and Natasha as they both stride in together, sniffing the air appreciatively. They sit down on either side of Steve, who’s already settled and filling his plate. Knowing Thor’s appetite, Tony and Natasha quickly claim what they want for themselves, since no matter how much Clint makes, it never quite seems to be enough for that Aesir vacuum-cleaner. They can already hear the demi-god thundering through the halls toward them. 

Only Bruce remains oblivious. He’s lost in his coffee, slumped in his chair, his too-long curls obscuring his eyes. No one can tell if they’re open or closed, and everyone’s learned not to try and speak to him until he’s at least halfway into his second mug.

Clint places the last plate on the table, piled high with eggs and bacon, and refreshes the syrup. He’d grazed while cooking and really only wants one more waffle, which he picks up and stuffs into his mouth as he puts together a smaller plate, setting it on a tray along with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, silverware, and a flower. “Just taking this up to Phil,” he explains around a mouthful of waffle, and Tony and Natasha nod absentmindedly at the statement, unsurprised. Coulson’s remarkable return from the dead hadn’t left him also miraculously healed, and he couldn’t do much on his own just yet. Clint has remained his near-constant companion.

Clint disappears down the hallway a moment too soon to catch Thor’s entrance as he throws the main dining hall doors wide, arms outstretched as if making a Broadway entrance. “By Odin,” he cries, “this is a feast worth waking for!” He’s on the food in an instant, piling his plate high before everyone else has finished laughing. 

Bruce’s brain-fog must have lifted some; he’s smart enough to snatch a few strips of bacon and a waffle to throw on his plate before Thor manages to somehow lay claim to the rest. Grumbling something about how gods of thunder shouldn’t be allowed near him before 10 a.m., he staggers to his feet to refill his mug. 

No one talks about the mission; that’s the pattern they’ve fallen into, and that’s the one they want to keep. Instead, they make small talk: Thor shares a strangely adorable dream, Tony explains how he got thanked on the Emmys last week, Natasha denies any involvement of the fall of that particular regime. Only Bruce remains silent, sipping away, the meager food he had claimed remaining untouched on his plate.

Steve finally looks over to Bruce with a furrowed brow. “Hey, doc - you in there?”

Bruce’s head jerks up with a start, coffee nearly sloshing out of his half-full mug. “Wha-what?” The rest of the team snickers quietly. It’s not the first time Bruce has fallen asleep at the table after a particularly smashy Hulk-out. Bruce grumpily blinks Steve’s direction, trying to focus on him from under that unruly bed-head mop of shaggy curls. 

“You really need a haircut, Bruce,” Tony remarks, and Natasha nods solemn agreement. 

Even Thor looks over and manages, between mouthfuls, to remark upon the general state of the brilliant doctor: “This unkempt look does not suit you, Banner.” 

Bruce glowers, lowers his eyes to his cup, takes another sip. “I suppose,” he mutters, picking up a waffle in one hand and taking a bite. “I guess I’ve just been putting it off since the last time someone tried to come at my head with scissors.” He swallows, drops the waffle, picks up a strip of bacon. “It went...poorly.”

“Verily?” Thor asks around a waffle - an entire waffle. “How so? Tell us the tale, Banner!” 

Bruce takes a moment to pull those curls out of the way, narrowing his eyes in Thor’s direction. “You want to hear about my haircut?” The silence drags his eyes around to look at the others, all looking at him, waiting. He sets down his coffee cup with a sigh. “Okay, fine.”

“My usual hairdresser was at some show, so I had a new person, and that always makes me nervous.” He looked up as he heard a snicker, but couldn’t make out who it was. “Oh, like you wouldn’t care about such things after five years on the run, making do with rainwater and rocks.” That shut up whoever was making the sound. Good.

Bruce takes another sip of coffee before continuing, lifting his hands to pantomime. “The back and sides went fine,” he said, mimicking little snip-snips at his curls in those areas. “But then this overly-exuberant guy goes on and on about my curls and how he just can’t stand to cut them off, how he’ll just _trim_ them, and he starts,” Bruce paused, jabbing his snip-snip fingers toward his face, “kind of poking at the front of my hair to clip at it, the scissors heading right towards my eye...” 

Bruce pauses just long enough to empty his cup. “Well, the Other Guy really didn’t like that.” He gets up, heading to the coffee pot once more. “Thankfully, he just grabbed the guy and shook him a little, then smashed anything that looked pointy for a while, including the big scissor sign outside the shop. S.H.I.E.L.D., I think, covered both the repair and the hairdresser’s therapy bills, since one of their agents recommended the place to me.” 

“Nope, that was me,” Tony calls. “I covered those bills.” He smirks, watching Bruce pour his third cup. “And the curls are kinda cute, Big Guy.” Bruce hits Tony with another half-shrouded glower, but Tony just grins wide. 

A few seconds of silence pass after that, and Bruce is back in his seat before Steve lights up. “Hey - I could cut your hair, Bruce. I did it for a while in the Army.”

Bruce, chewing on a piece of bacon, coughs. “Cut my hair? You?”

“Better than having you destroy another salon,” Natasha adds helpfully, and Thor, mouth still full, points at her with a knife and nods his agreement.

Bruce looks wary. “You wouldn’t just shave it all off, or do a crew-cut, would you? I really don’t want some standard military cut - bad past associations. I couldn’t handle seeing that staring back at me every day in the mirror.” Steve doesn’t say more, and Bruce feels relief, settling into the caffeinated warmth held between his hands.

There’s another awkward silence, during which Steve decides it’s okay to take the last piece of bacon and Natasha and Tony eye each other conspiratorially. When Clint returns, smile plastered on his face, Natasha perks up immediately. “Clint once masqueraded for seven months as a hairdresser in Milan, Bruce. I bet he’d do a great job!” Tony covers his mouth, trying really hard not to laugh out loud.

The smile melts somewhat from Clint’s face, replaced by a perplexed look that wanders over the animated group at the table - all but Bruce, who seems to be trying to disappear into his coffee cup. His gaze settles on Natasha. “Yes,” he starts hesitantly, “I _did_ do that job in Milan, but I think I’m missing something important here. What’s that have to do with...” 

Natasha points a look Bruce’s direction, motions to her own hair with snipping fingers. Clint watches the man blow his unruly locks out of his eyes. “Oh,” is all he can manage, smile pretty much faded away at this point. 

Tony can’t help but grin even wider, taking in Bruce’s hunched posture, Clint’s rather confused expression. He points immediately toward Bruce to exclaim loudly, “That man needs a haircut!” With that, he picks up his coffee cup and starts heading toward the door in a determined fashion, thanking Clint idly for the breakfast and the upcoming salon service as he passes him on the way out.

Clint watches Tony leave and furrows his brow. “Tony volunteering me for random things is worrisome,” he notes quietly once Tony has disappeared. “Will someone tell me why _I’m_ supposed to cut Bruce’s hair?”

“The man had a traumatic experience the last time he went under the scissors, archer/barber,” Thor states, reaching over to tousle Bruce’s curls, knocking him against the table in the process. Bruce grumbles complaint, but that does not stop the god. “We only aim to protect salons from -”

“Leave curls alone.” The voice is strong but quiet, nondescript, hard to place. It is a force in the room, though, and everyone looks around for a moment with caution - even Thor, whose hand is still absently petting Bruce’s hair.

And then, the voice explodes from Bruce, huge and reverberating, louder than anyone can handle. _**“LEAVE CURLS ALONE!”**_

The wave of sound sends everyone’s subconscious into high alert, and the team finds themselves promptly out of their seats and several steps back from the table, chairs toppled to the ground. Natasha regains her wits first, followed closely by Clint, both of them blinking in surprise at the appearance of the Big Guy roaring his irritation, standing in the middle of the kitchen in Bruce’s now nearly-shredded purple and yellow-rubber-duckie pajama pants. The sight, so unbelievable, actually startles laughter from Clint, Natasha barely able to keep from following.

That mirth doesn’t last long, though, because the Hulk moves quickly, shoving the table away, knocking everyone but Clint on their backs. Clint reaches down to help Natasha to her feet, cringing away from yet another deafening roar, the words exceptionally clear. “LEAVE HAIR ALONE!”

Then Hulk is out of the room, running down the hall in which Tony had so recently disappeared, before Thor and Steve had reached their feet. Clint, the ever-observant one, notices Hulk shake his head side to side as he moves, bumping off objects as he does, and files that little tidbit for use later. He watches as the others join him, everyone still a bit taken aback, as the Hulk nearly collides with with a pillar before he turns and heads toward the stairs, moving upward.

Clint groans, “oh, this’ll be great,” before everyone is suddenly in motion. They break; Clint back to his rooms for his weapons (and scissors, you never know), Natasha straight for the Other Guy. “Tony!” she shouts, of course still wearing her com. They all do. “Green incoming, unsteady on his feet! Corral him. I repeat, corral and detain!”

A loud _crack_ comes from behind her as the sound barrier breaks, Thor calling Mjolnir to his hand as he runs after Natasha, following only a few meters behind. Steve decides to forgo his shield and brings up the rear behind Thor. 

Coulson’s voice crackles in everyone’s earpiece. “Agents, team, report! What’s going on up there?”

Steve starts. “We were having breakfast, talking about things, and Bruce -”

Natasha interrupts. “There’s a rampaging Hulk heading up to get out of the tower, all over the need for a haircut. Send firepower.”

Coulson doesn’t miss a beat. “On it."

Tony, up in his office, hears the bellow two floors down before the warnings from Natasha, so he’s already set Jarvis in motion and is suiting up. “Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of outfitting your suit with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s latest set of anti-Hulk tranquilizing bullets,” Jarvis explains as the suit is being put together, all clanks and whirrs and motion.

“Good to know,” Tony responds. The suit wraps around him just in time; a second later, the doors burst inward as the Hulk kicks them from the other side, sending metal and wood flying. 

And then, Iron Man and Hulk are facing one another, both a little uncertain about how to proceed. The Other Guy shifts on his feet, looking over to the windows, back to Tony. The sounds of people approaching fill the hall behind Hulk, but Tony knows they’ll be too slow if the Hulk decides to make a run for it. 

So Tony makes a decision, pops up his face-plate, and holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, Big Guy, easy there. No one’s going to try and poke your eyes out.” The Hulk’s eyes were still wary, and his hands twitched into fists. “We’re only trying to help, that’s all.” 

The Hulk’s posture starts relaxing just a bit, and Tony hurried to help that along. “That’s right - we’re your friends, trying to help you. Don’t you want to be able to see where you’re going, what you’re doing? We want to help you do that.” 

The Hulk tossed his head - _tossed his head like a runway model, hoshit,_ Tony thinks - to get his hair out of his eyes as they grew hard and angry again. “HULK SEE! HULK SEE EVERYTHING! NO NEED CUT!” He looks once more at the windows of the penthouse, takes a step toward them. 

But the delay is enough. The rest of the Avengers are there, closing the exit behind the Hulk, fanning out into the room to keep his attention as they’d practiced, many times.

Clint whispers quickly to Steve, who then speaks first. “You nearly ran into seven things on the way up here, Big Guy -” The words don’t suit his tongue, and it’s obvious the Hulk doesn’t really like Steve using that pet name. He changes tactic. “- I mean, Hulk. And you did run right into at least one thing I’m pretty sure you meant to avoid. You’re better than that - it’s just the hair, in the way. It really needs something done with it.”

Again, Hulk’s posture slumps a bit, and those great eyes take on a forlorn look. Steve decides to step forward, put a hand on the creature’s arm. Take the risk. The Hulk only looks up at him, shaking hair out of his gigantic face as Steve says, “I’m sorry. This doesn’t have to be difficult, and it won’t hurt at all. Can you trust us?”

The Hulk turns slowly, looking over the team that surrounds him. He glowers at everyone blocking the exit, teeth gnashing together, grinding. It’s apparent his hair is in the way, as he actually lifts a great hand to wipe it away. But he considers the word. “TRUST?” he asks, looking to each of them equally.

Steve replies, “Yes, trust - that we won’t hurt you in cutting your hair, that we’ve got your best interest at heart. We also trust you - to not hurt us and to watch out for us, at which you’ve done a wonderful job, thank you.” Small nods come from the rest of the team, as Steve glances around meaningfully. 

Hulk looks around at everyone, turning last to look at Tony, who seems to wear the same resolve as the rest. A great hand reaches to his head, scratching there.

“BEST. INTERESTS,” the creature finally states, and sits down heavily. “TRUST.”

Tony smiles, and gestures Clint forward. “Thanks, Big Guy,” Tony says, and this time the Hulk smiles just a little. “I’ll help keep an eye on Clint here as he cuts your hair, making sure it looks good and you’re ok. Ok?” Hulk nods, and Clint sheaths his bow, pulling out a pair of hairdresser scissors and a really big comb instead as he walks up to the Hulk, feigning calm. 

With Tony by his side, the Hulk is, somehow, calmer - though still as big and green as ever. Great eyes roll down toward Clint, and the big head nods again. “CUT,” he intones, the walls reverberating with the word. And again. “CUT. TRUST.”

Clint sets himself to the task at hand, as quickly as he can while still doing a good job (he didn’t take all those beautician lessons for nothing), happy that the Hulk keeps reasonably still throughout the process. Oh, Clint does get swatted - across the room - a couple of times when working on the bangs, but in general, he’s left relatively unscathed when the process is complete. Finally, he steps back, appraising, even his critical self deciding that yes, he did do a good job. 

“Good?” Clint asks, directed at Tony first. The Hulk looks Tony’s direction as well, taking in the nod, smiling just a little.

Then Clint repeats toward the wall of Avengers. “Good?” They all took turns nodding, and the smile on Hulk’s face grew wide.

“HULK BETTER?” he asks, feeling his hair, idly.

Clint’s the one who answers. “Yes, you look much better now, Hulk. Thank you for your cooperation.”

A helicopter appears in the windows just at that moment, equipped with heavy firepower, and Coulson’s voice crackles to life on the comms again. “Air support just arrived, and we’ve got ground troops ready to -”

“Shit,” Natasha says, to the room alone. “Sorry, my bad.” She interrupts Coulson’s list of support teams on the way: “Stand down; they should all stand down. The situation’s under control. 

“And Coulson...” she finishes, smiling broadly. “You’re going to be oh-so-proud of Clint.”

Clint’s arms fall to his sides as he groans. Long-suffering eyes find Tony. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

Tony just grins that wide, perfect grin and shakes his head. “‘Fraid not, Legolas. Jarvis already put it on YouTube.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Start game event:** Clint wakes up early, in a really good mood, and decides to cook breakfast for the team.
> 
>  **End game event:** The team successfully gives Hulk a haircut 
> 
> *****
> 
> The authors agree that this story deserves a chibi renditions by an artist more skilled in drawing that genre than either of us (read for s_alt = I can't even draw stick figures). Links and forever gratitude to any Avengers fan(s) that want to do this. :-)


End file.
